


a dream of you and me

by unearth



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Communication, Community College, Family Secrets, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unearth/pseuds/unearth
Summary: Stop disappointing the people you love. Get off the couch and go make something of yourself.…Or, “stuff” is a GED test and tuition.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 23
Kudos: 278





	a dream of you and me

**Author's Note:**

> this is what happens when i’m lying in bed and my brain goes, “hey, what if ian discovered the missing wedding money a few episodes later and that commercial was foreshadowing something?”

_Stop disappointing the people you love. Get off the couch and go make something of yourself._

It starts with a Google search.

Mickey’s got a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, thumb hesitating over the bright blue search button. He eyes the sloppy half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the coffee table and clicks his tongue, stomach flipping in anticipation. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he gets an answer doesn’t like. Doesn’t want to go back into lousy job interviews when he’s no good at them.

He hears Ian’s voice in his head, saying some bullshit like, _if you never try, you’ll never know_. Something he read on the back of a fucking expired cereal box, or something.

“Whatever,” he mutters under his breath. “Fuck it.”

The results for _can you get into community college with a criminal record_ start to show up after a few moments of the mobile browser loading, their shitty ass Internet taking its sweet ass time. Can’t really complain, though. He doesn’t remember if they paid their bill, and if they didn’t, they’re probably leeching off of some poor unsuspecting neighbor with an unlocked connection.

Mickey’s breath leaves him in a heavy exhale, and he leans forward to set his beer next to his poor excuse of a meal. With two hands, he grips his phone like it’s a goddamn lifeline. He knows why he’s so nervous about it, but it doesn’t make it any less strange. To be worried about _school_ again. Like he’s some goddamn freshman in high school.

 _Jesus_. Whatever. He’d much rather be worried about school than some stupid fucking minimum wage job that rejected him right in front of his husband. That interview went _swell_ , if he does say so himself, no matter how much that idiot looked at him like he was white trash. Like he had wasted his time answering his dumbass roleplay questions and offering to give him his hookup of glocks and bayonets. Asshat doesn’t deserve his supply, anyway.

The first result that pops up makes him a little _excited._ Makes him sit up a little straighter on the couch.

_Absolutely, you can go to college if you have a felony. There is no law or regulation barring criminals from attending._

He has a little smile on his face when he makes the next search.

_Southside Community College application._

* * *

The community college doesn’t require a GED for admission, but Mickey figures, _fuck it_. It wouldn’t hurt to freshen up on the shit he’s forgotten over the past couple of years. He doesn’t remember the last time he sat down and did a math problem. Or the last time he really thought about the scientific method, or whatever the hell that was.

The next search he makes is how much the test costs. And, like. He really thought that shit was one big test, but turns out there’s _modules. Four_ of them. And they _each_ cost money. Money he doesn’t have.

He’s about to get real pissed, start thinking about how maybe this was a stupid idea anyway, it wasn’t like it was ever going to work. And then Ian walks into their room, fresh from his shower, and the light pouring in from the windows catches his wedding band.

And, well. He looks over at their drawer. Knows that there’s still a good amount of money left over from the wedding.

After Ian kisses him on the head and leaves for work, Mickey pockets a handful of twenties.

He leaves a crumpled up piece of paper inside the box, reading _IOU $160_ in a nearly dried out black Sharpie.

* * *

It’s Liam who catches him studying.

Mickey tries to cover up his GED test book and loose pieces of scratch paper, but Liam’s already sitting across from him with a dopey little smile on his face.

“What’s that?”

“Jesus, kid. Thought you were at school.”

“Staff development day, but we’re probably just getting ready to go online again,” Liam explains. Mickey fights back a groan. Schools should just be shut down until this shit is over with. Doesn’t make any goddamn sense to him.

Liam leans on his elbows so he can reach a paper covered in Mickey’s messy handwriting. He doesn’t let him start ranting about the backwards COVID precautions, cutting in with, “What’s this for?”

Mickey sighs. He should’ve known he would never get to keep this secret until he was for sure he got accepted. “You can’t tell your brother. Got it?”

“Wasn’t going to.”

He pauses for a long moment. Just stares at Liam until he feels a little less embarrassed about talking about it. He’s never said any of this shit out loud. “Takin’ my GED test so my community college application looks better. I know everyone gets accepted or some shit, but. _Everyone_ doesn’t have _my_ shitty record. Pretty sure they’re allowed to turn someone down who went to the joint for attempted murder.”

Liam raises his eyebrows. “You’re really gonna go to college?”

“Tryin’ to, kid. So what?” Mickey asks, voice turning up a little on the defensive side.

“Nothing,” Liam says. He slides the piece of paper with algebra on it back across the table and smiles at him, something soft. “That’s cool. You’d be the first one in the family to finish.”

Mickey’s glad that the door opens before he can speak. Wouldn’t really trust himself to say anything without his voice cracking.

But then, he’s _really_ not so glad anymore. Because he can hear Lip and Tami and babbling kids, their voices echoing into the kitchen from the living room, and he’s not fast enough to get rid of all the incriminating shit on the table.

“The hell is all that?”

“Mickey’s going to college,” Liam answers, stunning his in-laws into silence.

Stunning _him_ into silence. Until he stammers for a few seconds and blurts out, “I _just said_ not to tell anyone.”

“You said _your brother,_ meaning _Ian_.”

And, well. He’s not exactly wrong.

Mickey sighs and stacks his notebook paper neatly so he can slide it inside of his workbook. “You really can’t tell Ian,” he says, looking up at Lip. The asshole may be his brother-in-law now, but he won’t hesitate to drop him on his ass. “It’s, like. A surprise, I guess.”

Lip looks amused, his lip curling up into one of those stupid ass smirks he’s always sporting. He stops bouncing Freddie in his arms for a second so he can shoot him a lazy salute. “Okay. Won’t.”

“Yeah,” Tami agrees, sliding her mask down to her chin. She reaches over and takes the small beanie off of Freddie’s head. “Lips are sealed.”

Mickey exhales. “Yeah, okay.”

“Uncle Mickey,” Franny squeaks, running over to stand in front of his feet. “What’s college?”

* * *

Turns out, college is something that _accepts him_. He gets an email notification when he’s watching reruns of _Criminal Minds_ and nearly spills the leftover bucket of KFC chicken he reheated.

_Dear Mikhailo,_

_Congratulations! On behalf of the Southside Community College, I am pleased to announce your admission for Fall 2021!_

He doesn’t bother reading the rest. Just runs up to their empty bedroom and counts the rest of their money, letting himself quietly whoop in celebration when he sees that it covers the in-county tuition in its entirety.

He puts a shitload of pieces of paper in the box, dividing up the amount of money so Ian doesn’t know he spent a big chunk of money at once. That’d be real fucking suspicious.

_IOU $15, IOU $25, IOU $100…_

* * *

Mickey almost falls asleep in the tub.

He’s _exhausted_. He’s got four subjects he’s testing over within the next few weeks and it feels like all he’s dreaming about is grammar and graphs and random historical events. He’s never studied this hard for _anything_. Maybe when he was trying to memorize his vows, but. That’s it.

He’s got a good feeling about it, though. When Liam’s free and Ian’s at work, they go over the workbook together. It’s always easier when he’s got someone to look over the answers with him. Keep him focused.

And, you know. Knowing that he’s _actually_ accepted and can’t tell anyone except for his kid brother-in-law is really getting to him.

“IOU’s?” Ian’s voice cuts through his thoughts. Mickey opens his eyes slowly, winces at the expression on his husband’s face. “What the fuck is this? I go to get our money for the utilities out of our wedding cash and all I find is IOU’s. You spent nearly _all_ of our money from the wedding?”

“Relax,” Mickey says, trying to keep his tone even. “You know I’m good for it.”

“That not the point!” Ian whisper-yells, trying to keep in consideration that Franny’s napping down the hallway. “It’s not your money. It’s _our_ money.”

“Okay,” Mickey says slowly. He looks up at Ian and brings his beer to his lips for a quick gulp. “So I spent some of _our_ money.”

“On what?”

Mickey doesn’t answer for a few seconds. He knows he’s acting shifty, but he’s not ready to tell Ian. Not yet. He wants to pass these stupid fucking GED modules, show him that he’s been working hard. That he can _do this_. That it wasn’t some stupid, split second decision. That maybe it’s not the job he’s been nagging Mickey to get, but something more. Something to benefit them both in the future.

“I don’t know. _Stuff_.” Is what his overwhelmed, tired brain comes up with.

Ian just _looks_ at him. That stupid puppy dog face he pulls when he’s feeling some type of way.

Mickey sighs and sits up in the tub, water sloshing around his middle. He takes another pull of beer just to calm himself. “I’ll pay it back,” he says, voice soft and sincere. “Look, it’s not just me throwing it around and having fun. I wouldn’t do that with our wedding money. You do know that, right?”

Ian’s eyes soften. He sits on the edge of the tub, searching Mickey’s face. “We’re supposed to be making these decisions together, though,” he says, covering the top of Mickey’s hand with his own. The wedding band shimmers.

“I know. It’s—I’ll tell you soon. I promise.”

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, Ian smiles softly. He leans over and presses a kiss to Mickey’s forehead, seeming to accept the reluctance and be patient with him. “I love you. And I trust you, remember?”

Mickey just smiles. “I remember.”

“Good. I’ll see you after work.”

“Sure you can’t call in?

“ _Bye_ , Mick.”

* * *

The testing takes fucking _forever_. He makes it an all day thing, just to knock them out.

Which—was probably a fucking mistake. He’s almost bouncing out of his seat by the time he’s on the third module.

But he powers through, pulling his mask down to his chin as soon as he steps out of the building of his former high school. He breathes in fresh air, _really_ gets it to his lungs, and tries not to think about how he could get his results in a matter of _three fucking hours_.

By the time he gets home, everyone’s back from work and school and whatever the hell they were out doing all day. There’s a distinct smell of spaghetti and meatballs and Franny’s running around with the new remote control car Ian brought back from work. It’s a little defective, but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t even seem to notice, really. 

Liam steps out in front of him when he passes the staircase, big eyes looking around to make sure the coast is clear. “This came in the mail today. I didn’t let Ian see.”

A crisp white envelope is shoved into his hands, and it makes Mickey’s stomach flip in excitement when he sees the Southside Community College logo stamped on the front, beside his full name.

“Thanks, kiddo. I owe ‘ya.”

“Did it go okay?”

Mickey blows out a breath, tucks the letter in his back pocket, and gently places his hand on Liam’s head, steering him towards the kitchen. He’s fucking _starving_ after all of that shit. “Fuckin’ hope so.”

“Did what go okay?” Ian asks, refilling Franny’s sippy cup with apple juice.

“Tell you after dinner, man. Could eat this whole pot of noodles.”

Ian gives him impatient looks all throughout dinner, eyes wide and pleading, forehead bunched together. Mickey almost caves and blurts it out, right in front of everyone, but he doesn’t want it to happen over cheap meatballs and flat, off brand soda.

“Okay,” Ian says, shutting their bedroom door behind them. He earned them a lot of suspicious looks when he bolted the second everyone was finished with dinner. Whole family probably thinks they’re fucking like rabbits, or something. “What does Liam know that _I_ don’t?”

Mickey laughs a little, pushing at Ian’s chest until he takes the hint and sits down on the edge of their messy, unmade bed. “Stop shitting your pants, man. It isn’t anything bad.”

“Then _what_ is it?”

Mickey doesn’t say anything. Just reaches behind him and pulls the letter from his pocket, holding it out in front of him.

“What’s this?”

“Maybe open it, dipshit,” Mickey jokes, biting at his bottom lip to suppress the smile that’s threatening to take over his whole fucking face.

Ian snatches it with a fond eyeroll, freezing once he reads the stamped logo. “Wait,” he says, looks back and forth between Mickey and the envelope. “Wait.”

“Don’t wait, open it.”

Ian carefully opens it, making sure not to rip any of the contents inside. He unfolds the letter, eyes growing wider and wider as the seconds tick by. “Holy fuck.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“When the fuck did you—? _Mickey_ ,” Ian says, voice coming out soft. A mere breath. “The money’s gone because—?”

Mickey pulls a face. “I said I’d pay it back, I wouldn’t just—”

“I don’t give a shit about the money right now, Mick,” Ian interrupts. He’s smiling, now, eyes suspiciously shiny.

“I did it because of that fucking job interview and a stupid commercial on TV,” Mickey explains, huffing out a laugh when Ian pulls him forward by the hips. “I mostly did it for me, though. For us. Figured it would help out, in the long run. I know it isn’t a _job_ like you wanted, but I was reading on their website that you can get a part-time as a student assistant or, uh, _associate_ , or whatever the fuck—”

“ _Mickey_ ,” Ian interrupts again. Sounds just like he did at their wedding, that soft voice full of pure emotion. “I’m really fucking proud of you.”

“I mean, I’m still waiting for my GED results, so I’d hold off on saying—”

“Your fucking _what_? When did you have the time to go out and do that?”

“Today.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ian whispers, patting the open space next to him. Mickey takes a seat beside him on the edge, messing with a loose thread on his jeans. “I wish you would have told me. Would have packed your lunch in one of those little brown bags and kissed you goodbye and wished you good luck. _Liam_ knew?”

“Well, _yeah_ , but it’s because he caught me doing my homework shit.”

“Mickey doing homework,” Ian repeats, nodding like he’s caught in a daze. “And caring about school? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh, eat me,” Mickey says, but he’s smiling like a jackass anyway. “Sorry we didn’t all take fuckloads of math and sciences during summer breaks ‘cause we wanted to shoot a fuckin’ gun.”

Ian pulls him in for a kiss, smiling when he pulls away. He’s silent for a minute, green eyes just _searching_ , until he breaks the silence again. “I really am so proud of you.”

Mickey feels his face heat up, looks down at his hands in his lap to shift his attention anywhere else. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just wanted to make sure I could do it, before, I— _yeah_. You know.”

“I get it. I would have been proud of you if you didn’t get in. If you fucked up getting your GED, too. I’m always proud of you.”

Mickey laughs, just to keep his emotions from spilling out. “Careful, don’t fuckin’ jinx it. Could get my results any minute.”

“Mmm,” Ian hums, taking Mickey’s face in his hands so he can make their eyes meet again. “I know you’re gonna do great.”

“Yeah? And if I don’t?”

Ian shrugs. “Then you can try again. And this time I can help you study.”

Later, when they’re wrapped up in wrinkled sheets and Ian’s tracing his chest tattoo, Mickey gets an email notification.

He passes each module.

And Ian initiates round two.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markofalover)


End file.
